


Choose the Dress, Drop the Mitt

by mikeginsanity (blahblahwahwah)



Series: Choose the Dress [2]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwahwah/pseuds/mikeginsanity
Summary: Response to a Tumblr promptPitch-fics:what If Ginny had chose her mom and the dresses and the dance and all that. And left baseball behind? What would her life look like? Would she still meet mike Lawson?aka The ficlet that become inhumanly long, it became a work of it's own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a ficlet - which became a loooong ass fic that i'm just posting up front.  
> something to ease the cruelty of waiting for another two weeks for the next episode.  
> thank you to midnightxgarden for the baseball input. I could not have done it without you.  
> Thank you fortuatedaughter for churning out fics at a superhuman pace. My plot bunnies go on overdrive every time I read your tumblr prompt fics.

On her twenty-third birthday, Ginny Baker returns after a week-long vacation to find a bittersweet surprise waiting for her at work.

“Psst!” Nurse Crawley elbows her. “Dr. Cute-Mug’s coming, your way.”

“Hey! Baker!” A voice calls out to her in the corridor. “I got a present for you.”

Ginny rolls her eyes at the nurse and signs off on her notes before she moved towards the very handsome Ortho resident they’d aptly taken to nicknaming Cute Mug.

“Dr. Curtis Mugh.” She says, a little flirtatiously (-because, what the hell) “Hello to you too.”

“It _is_ your birthday, today isn’t it?” Mugh says, sounding uncertain for a moment, gesturing for her to walk with him.

“Yep!” She says, grinning wide, and falling in line with him. “Wait, how’d you find out?”

“I keep tabs on special people.” He says, flashing another charming smile at her and opening his arm out, leading her into the elevator.

(Yeah – so maybe she’s aware that Dr. Cute-Mug likes her in a more-than-platonic way.)

 “So what’ve we got?” She says, watching him swipe his keycard and punch the number for the VIP floor - the high security, high profile patient ward.

“Mike Lawson.” He says, smiling at her wide. “In a hospital bed!”

“No way!” She exclaims, punching Dr. Mugh’s arm excitedly. “When’d’you operate?”

“Midnight – about 10 days ago.”

The rumors have been going on for weeks. It’s no secret that Lawson had been having trouble with his knees and it had also gotten out that he was coming to their centre for the procedure under Dr. Smith – Cute Mug’s boss and the foremost Orthopedic surgeon who happened to be the go-to guy for Sports Injuries in San Diego.

She whistles. “How’d you keep it from the press? How is it that no one else is yapping about it?”

Mugh raises his eyebrows pretentiously as though he credits himself for the top-secret mission.

“So, when can I meet him?” She says, bouncing on the balls of her feet, excitedly.

“In about five minutes.” Mugh says.

“Say what!” She squeals and jumps on her toes. She’s almost hugging Dr. Mugh – but the elevator doors open. She grins at the supervisory nurse who mouths a ‘happy birthday!’ at her. Another one gives her a thumbs up. Another gives a silent small clap. A whole lot of them exchange knowing glances.

(Yeah, also, maybe, the whole hospital knows about how she fangirled over Lawson.)

“Ohmigod! Ohmigod! You have no idea how awesome this is!” She gushes and rambles on. “Oh man! I’ve been his fan since…”

“Since you were twelve – yeah – I know.” Mugh says, smiling at her fondly.

“….and now I get to meet him!” She squeals, breaking her stride to jog excitedly in her spot.

Mugh shakes his head at her amused.

“It’s like Christmas!” She pipes. “Best birthday present evahh!” She does a Usain Bolt celebratory move earning smiles from most of her coworkers who pass them by.

“Yeaaah…!” Mugh drawls. Even in her enthusiasm, Ginny’s able to see the amusement fading from Mugh’s face and transforming into apprehension.

“So!” Mugh’s voice turns serious as he points to the sliding door behind which Ginny’s dreams are about to come true. “So – _that’s_ the good news.” He adds, looking nervously at the assigned nursing staff for Lawson’s bed.

“There’s a _bad_ news?” Ginny says, absentmindedly. She’s already blushing and fixing her hair, fumbling around her in pocket for lipstick; she peeks in the mirror above the washing station and reapplies it before turning around to receive a digital tablet from Nurse Roberts that she takes mechanically.

“Yeah…uh….” Mugh says, sounding uncertain.

“So, is he up for visitors?” She says, her whole body thrumming with excitement. “Won’t it be weird? Patient-care providers hopping in and asking for autographs like we’re weirdos.”

Mugh looks at her peculiarly. She notices the glance he exchanges with Roberts. “Er – I think we can make an exception, because it’s your birthday.”

“Wait!” Ginny says, swiping through the patient notes as they walk towards Lawson’s suite and frowns. “Why am I looking at these? He can’t be assigned to me.”

Mugh gives her a mysteriously sympathetic expression and then knocks on the door before opening it.

“Happy birthday.” He says to her, softly, but not in the usual cheery tone. “And I’m sorry.”

 

 

Though Ginny idolizes Mike Lawson for his talent, she isn’t particularly clueless about his legendary charm, cockiness and good-looks; she feels no differently when she sees him in person. She thinks he still looks awesome – even with that stupid beard, the puffy face and grouchy lost expression in his eyes.

“Hi Mike.” Mugh says. Ginny doesn’t miss the nervous anticipation in Mugh’s voice.

“Dr. Muggg.” Mike Lawson says, making a bored expression, stressing on the last ‘ _gg_ ’

“Mugh.” Mugh corrects.

(Something tells her Mike Lawson already knows the pronunciation of Mugh’s name.)

Ginny is startled when Lawon’s eyes suddenly zero in on her.

(His eyes are hazel. Not green – like she always thought.)

“Ginny Baker.” He says to her. “In the flesh.”

_Shut the fuck up! He knows me? He knows my name?_

He grins at her. It – _that_ \- throws her, off focus. She’s pretty sure a fly can make a home in her mouth. She shuts her trap, purses her lips and tries to look cool (and _not allow_ the goofy wide smile she feels playing at the corners of her mouth).

“How was your vacation?”

_Mike Lawson knows she was on vacation. How cool is that?_

He probably sees the surprise on her face. “There’s been a lot of talk about you, these past few days.” he says. “And that is not easy for me, y’know – I hate it when people talk about anyone but me. They tell me I’m a narcissist.”

Something triggers an alarm in her head. There’s something vacant and unfriendly in his voice.

Something’s wrong. He doesn’t sound like the usual charming, affable Mike Lawson she saw on TV.  (She would know. She spent hours sighing over his interviews and post-game presses on youtube, she rewatched all his games, she fine-tooth-combed through every televised appearance he made.)

She nods her head, dumbly and then speaks with an awestruck wavy voice. “I should tell you…” She started. “I have your rookie card. You’ve been my favourite player since….”

“Yeah, don’t.” He cuts her off, rudely. “Makes you look stupid. Makes me look old.”

Ginny blinks.

“So. Dr. Mug _ggg_.” Lawson’s eyes switch to the man next to her. “What do you have for me today? More bad news?”

“No! Actually.” Mugh looks at her with an exhausted expression which he straightens before he turns his head towards Lawson. “We’ve assigned Dr. Baker here to you. Dr. Brown will be remain in a supervisory capacity.”

Lawson rolls his eyes and shrugs his eyebrows. Ginny feels like a dam burst in that instant and suddenly there’s a whole wave of anger and resentment pouring out.  “So what?” Mike Lawson roars. “Just because I called that last dickhead therapist a grumpy old douche, you go down to daycare and pick a baby out? She barely looks old enough to write!”  His angry glare shifts to her face. “How _old_ are you, _Rookie_?” He barks.

Gobsmacked – that’s what she feels. If she wasn’t rendered speechless, she’d probably have taken insult.

“Mike,” Mugh turns his voice to a softer, calming tone. “It’s like we discussed before. Ginny looks young, and yes she’s just a year past her degree but she’s done a lot of work with athletes and she’s got a lot of experience and she’s very good at….” Mugh prattles on, in a monotonous placating tone.

She doesn’t quite process the resigned words that Mugh gives as an explanation as to why she is appointed for Lawson. She really doesn’t care.

This was not what she expected. The man on the bed is not the cool, charming, Mike Lawson. He’s not the sweet, cocky, hilarious guy. He’s cold, bitter, harsh and – seething.

“Never meet your heroes, right?” Dr. Mugh mutters to her as they exit.

 

 

 

“It was an arthroscopic procedure.” Ginny says, still reeling from the shock of meeting Lawson. “He should have been dismissed three days after surgery!”

Mugh sighs out. A long drawn out sigh that makes him look way older than he actually is.

“Turned into a meniscal replacement on table.” He says. “His knee haemorrhaged same night. We had to open him up. Then it got infected – that we flushed out but…He – “ Mugh breaks off and sighs again.

She frowns. “Elias Brown is supposed to be his primary physical therapist. What happened?”

Mugh purses his mouth.

“ _What_ happened?

“I dunno how he somehow managed to piss Lawson off.” Mugh sounds irritated. “Or maybe it was the other way around. I’m not sure.”

“Dr. Brown.” She says, assertively. “Has the patience and bedside manner of a _saint_!”

Mugh gives her a knowing expression that says he’s in agreement with her opinion.

“Wow.” She says, rolling her eyes. “He really must be something if he managed to insult Brown. Look, Lawson is right about one thing. I don’t have the experience Brown has.” She says, chewing her lip worriedly. “And Mike Lawson is a high profile patient.”

“Dr. Smith and I feel that, given your natural rapport with athletes, maybe you should take over.” Mugh shrugs. “We’re worried about a prolonged rehabilitation with him.”

Mugh pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s debating over something. Then he gestures for her to come closer. His voice drops to a whisper, she notices him keeping an eye on the nurses as he talks.

“I’ll show you the video of the scopy, Baker. His ligaments are like those hippie curtains. His cartilages are like shards. He’s going to need a full on TKR down the line.”

Oh?

_Oh._

“Season starts in….eight weeks.” Ginny whispers, thinking out loudly, more than speaking to Mugh. “He won’t be able to play.”

“See, this is why you’re our PT of choice. You _get_ this stuff.” Mugh says, looking impressed.

“You think that’s why he won’t bite my head off?” She asked incredulously. “Newsflash! Dr. M! He kinda already just did!”

“Something’s wrong with him. He’s…” Mugh says, looking at her helplessly. “He’s refusing to get off the bed. He’s refusing to start passive exercises. He’s…”

“Angry.” She completes.

Mugh shrugs.

 “Well – actually Sanders suggested your name”

“Blip?”

“First name basis?” Mugh looks surprised. “Wow.”

“Yeah I uh – Evelyn Sanders is one of my closest friends. I did my DPT at USC, remember? Blip had this injury so…” She says, shaking her head and pawing at the tablet. “Never mind!”

“We know he’ll be difficult, Ginny. Dr. Smith has asked this of you as a personal favor. Just see if you can get him to active physio that’s all, we’ll set you free after.”

Ginny sighs resignedly.

Happy Birthday indeed.

 

\-----

 

Ginny considers herself unique as a sports therapist, in that she sees her patients from both physical and psychological angles. She’s always recommended because she’s level-headed and relentlessly focussed in her bedside manner.

She’s seen a lot of athletes go through what she calls ‘iatrogenic depression’. The post-operative weakness, the bouts of depression, the helplessness and intimidation of a hospital bed. The sudden loss of muscle power.

The _fear_.  

The fear of hopes and dreams disintegrating in a blink of an eye. The frustration of a wasted effort. She’s seen that in the friends of hers from back in the day, especially among those tried their hardest to go pro (and in vain). She sees it in the athletes, she now works with.

She knows what that heartbreak feels like on a personal level too. She made a choice. She could never really have it all in the end. She knows what it _all_ feels like.

It’s why she takes a lot of shit, calmly and patiently. 

Mike Lawson is no exception in that regard.

The first day – he cooperated somewhat – kept scowling at her throughout. The second day onwards he was downright impossible. Passive aggressive, defiant - _snipey_. She can barely lift up his heavy legs as it is, he’d make it worse keeping it slumped like dead weight.

“Oh look. Rookie’s back!” He taunts when she enters his room on the fifth day. (She hasn’t a clue why he’s taken to calling her that. It doesn’t bother her, so she doesn’t make a scene about it.)

He’s chewing on gum and looking at her in that particularly annoying fashion.

Ginny rolls her eyes and ignores him. She jabs the tablet screen pulling up the fresh knee x-rays. Nurses Dacey and Roberts are giggling and fussing over him. It’s weird because he’s all charms and smiles with them. He is somewhat nicer with the nurses, often flirts with them as well. He’s civil towards Dr. Mugh and Dr. Smith even though she can sense the hostility underneath – but he’s particularly snipey at her.

(Again, it doesn’t bother her.

Patients unwittingly find someone to focus their anger on and more often than less she’s found herself at the receiving end of that anger.

She doesn’t let it get to her. She knows it’s not personal.

Even if it comes from her childhood hero – who’s fast falling off the pedestal she kept him up on.)

Thing is – he’s not rude. He just keeps taunting her. Like he’s waiting to see if she’s going to burst into tears any minute.

“Okay, Mr. Lawson.” She sighs. “Let’s do this.” 

He defiantly keeps chewing.

“Maybe without the drama today.” She mutters under breath.

She suspects he heard added comment when his jaw slow down. He rolls his eyes at her and does the usual movements as she tells him too.

He’s a little more cooperative today – she sees that – she takes that as a sign the pain levels are coming down.

“Mark the face for me please.” She shows him the faces pain scale.

He chews pensively for a second looking at the pain scale and then he imitates the exact same face as the fifth-point on the pain scale. She resists the urge to tell him that he’s being infantile. Instead, she marks it on his behalf.

She reaches for the knee with a tired sigh and starts the exercises keeping her eyes on his facial expressions. He chews unemotionally, grimaces a lot when she rotates leg around his knee but – there’s improvement in his actions. She smiles down at the joint when she senses it.

“What?” He distracts her.

“Huh?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Oh nothing.”

“That’s not an oh nothing smile.” He gripes.

“No, umm – range of movement is better today.” She says, wincing at him. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like much but it’s progress…”

“That’s the special four dimple smile.” He says, surprising her.

“The what?”

“Rookie, when you’re pissed and you’re smiling at me like you really wanna tell me to fuck off but you have to be nice to me because I’m Mike Lawson, you give me the _fake_ four dimpled smile. When you’re actually in a good mood, like when you’re flirty and playing-hard-to-get with Dr. Mug _ggg_ you give the two dimpled smile.”

He smirks at her when her eyes widen at his insinuation.

_Wow, he is annoying._

“But, if someone’s done something _really_ nice.” He says, in a slightly more pleasant tone. “Like when the nurses save some cake for you – you give ‘em the all-out _special_ four-dimpled smile.”

Ginny exchanges a look with Dacey. Her friend looks veritably impressed with his observations.

“Now, I know I’m an attractive guy, and I’m irresistible but – I’ve been a real fuckin’ asshole to you, Baker. So there’s no way you’d be giving _me_ the special four dimpled smile –“ He cocks his head at her, looking at her face curiously. “But here you are – with the special four-dimpled smile, smiling at my old man knees.”

Ginny doesn’t dwell on how much time he’s spent observing her actions. She also doesn’t consider the possibility that he’s making an attempt to apologize.

She drops his leg and folds her arms over her chest, looking at him. He’s observing her – but really he’s – (She knows that look. She’s seen that look in her Dad’s eyes -)

He’s challenging her.

“Do you have any idea how annoying you can be, Mr. Lawson?” She says, flatly.

His face goes blank for an instant.

Roberts, who’s all up and ready with her injection tray, looks at her alarmed.

“I don’t flirt with Dr. Mugh.” She says, collectedly.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He says, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“And –“She says, sounding imperturbable, even though she _is_ irritated and her mouth is running ahead of her brain. “I’m _nice_ to you because _you’re_ my patient. Not - Mike Lawson, superstar ballplayer who’s acting like a temperamental diva just because his old man knees have given out.”

 _Oh dear!_ Ginny thinks, once the words are out, _I’m gonna get fired._

Nurse Roberts gasps. Her tray rattles a little when her hands shake.

Mike Lawson’s jaw stills – his mouth a little open, his eyes wide. Then he sticks his tongue behind his teeth, his eyes have gone from completely antagonistic to playful. Ginny marvels at the wonders it does to his face.

He looks – kinda cute.

Ginny keeps a straight face and then quirks an eyebrow at his knees. Without a word of complaint, he starts chewing again and deferentially starts the exercises she’s shown him. By the time he’s done, she’s the one impressed.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Mr. Lawson.” She says, nodding approvingly. “What do you say we take you for a spin around the ward in two days?”

“Already?” He cocks his head at her. Gone, is the hostility she’s been seeing for the last five days. His eyes are mischievous and filled with good humour. “But you haven’t asked me out, yet.”

“Yeah dream on, Mr. Lawson.” She retorts and picks up her stuff.

“Okay, but if we’re gonna be dating, at least have the decency to call me by my first name.” He calls out after.

She smiles uncontrollably, doesn’t look back at him when she speaks. “See you tomorrow…. _Mike_.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

When Smith and Mugh finally tell her, Ginny feels her heart hit the floor.

“We’re skeptical if he’ll ever play the same.” Smith says her, looking at her dismally.

Her mind flashes a picture of Lawson on her childhood bedroom wall. So young, so invincible….so perfect.

They say that they’ve been keeping his prognosis from everyone. But – something tells her that Mike already knows.

“We thought Brown would be more discreet–“ Smith tells her, in a doleful voice. “But he slipped something to Mike about considering retirement.” Smith sighs. “We had never talked about the possibility prior to the surgery. We didn’t think the damage would be this bad. So – you know,” Smith shrugs. “Lawson’s a smart guy. He figured it out.”

“That explains why he’s so mad.” She replies.

“No, Baker.” Smith sighs. “I think it’s something else. Something’s been off about him from the day he got admitted. He wasn’t like this. Ginny, you should have seen that guy last month when he came into my office for the pre-op evaluations. He was joking and laughing and hopeful. He was the guy you see on TV. That day though…something wasn’t right.”

Ginny feels like parts about Lawson’s behaviour is falling into place, like a magnetic jigsaw puzzle.

Dr. Smith sighs out. “I’m not superstitious man, but I can’t help wonder if that day was jinxed in anyway.”

 

\-----

 

 

It is an effort for her. Trying keep the pity out of her voice and behaviour when she goes to him that day.

Most athletes live with a hidden fear of the breakdown as they start aging. They already have fragile egos and they can’t handle the betrayal of their bodies when it gives in to the pressure of their sport. Treating them with pity only worsens things for them and that’s something Ginny understands and identifies with.

 _Tough love is the way to go._ She thinks when she asks Lawson to get off the bed. He procrastinates.

 “Hey! You a ballplayer or a bellboy.” She says, rudely. “Now!” She adds as a command.

He looks at her with incredulity. Then he straightens his face.  “Kindergarten teacher to dominatrix. I like that.” He retorts, but doesn’t move.

“Okay – you’re a narcissist but you’re _not_ a sexist.” She says, looking him in the eye. “So don’t pretend to be one. It’s not a good look on you.”

“How’d you know I’m not a sexist? Aren’t all ballplayers dumb jocks according to you feminists?”

“No, I don’t think that.” She says, shaking her head.  “How do you know I’m a feminist?”

“Eaah! All women are feminists.” He waves his hand dismissed. “I see that ‘fuck you, asshole’ look in your eyes, Baker.” 

 “Are you gonna get off the bed or do I have to push you off it?” She says, sternly (whilst giving him the very same ‘fuck you, asshole’ look.)

“Geez!” He whines and flaps the covers off.  “The least you can do is ask nicely.”

“Okay.” She says, evenly. “Are you gonna get off the bed or do I have to push you off it? _Please_.”

She’s rewarded with a grin. A genuine Mike Lawson grin.

It completely floors her. She’s so accustomed to expecting the sniping and the snark she doesn’t really know how to deal with it. She reckons the thirteen-year-old Ginny Baker would probably be a puddle of mush right then.

She hides that shy smile forcing its way to her face and tries to focus on his movements. She watches carefully as he grimaces and groans until he swings his feet on the side of the bed trying to keep her own nervousness at bay. “Aren’t you gonna lend me your shoulder?” He growls. His breathing is ragged.

“Nope.” She says.

(She has a thumb over the button of the wireless bell in her pocket. She had two orderlies on standby who were ready rush in when she gives the signal – just in case he topples.)

“You’re the worst physical therapist in this hospital. I should get you fired.”

“Yeah, sure.” She says, ignoring his threat.

“I mean - you’re terrible at your job.” He reasserts.

“Can’t be worse than when Falcone outed you in last year in divisions.” She raises her eyebrows at him, cheekily. “Did you even _see_ the ball or were you just standing there looking pretty for the cameras?”

His eyes snap to hers. There’s a fiery look in them. Ginny isn’t fazed. She waits it out until an intrigued grin appears on his face.

“So – are you gonna get off the bed?” She wiggles her eyebrows, daring him. “ _Old_. Man.”

He chuckles at first and then groans loudly as he attempts to stand. Ginny steps forward and keeps a hand on his arm when she gets the inkling that he’s wobbling.  

“Baker.” He wheezes – his arm winds around hers and his big fingers wrap around her bicep – it’s a tight death grip that has pain shooting up her shoulder.

“You’re good.” She says, in calming tones. She squeezes her fingers around his bicep, encouraging him. It feels hard and sinewy to the touch.

“You’re going to get off this bed.” She says gently. “And then we’re going to take a little walk – just around the room and if you’re feeling up to we’ll go out.”

He heaves and adjusts his weight. They stay like that, with their arms intertwined, until he straightens his spine and his face relaxes. 

“Are we now?” He jokes, still panting softly. “I like a woman who thinks she can boss me around.”

“Mmmhm.”

“Patients flirt with you all the time, don’t they?” He says, ducking his chin, trying to get her to meet her eyes.

“Yes, they  do –“ She says, inattentively, keeping her gaze focussed on how he balances his body-weight on his feet. When she’s satisfied, she looks up to into his hazel eyes. (They’re really pretty eyes, she thinks, and there are blue-green tints in them.)

She baits him. “But if _that’s_ your idea of flirting, you’re _waaay_ off your game Lawson – by leaps and bounds.”

There’s a bark of a laugh. His face changes dramatically. In an instant, the tension between them ebbs.

“C’mon.” She says, smiling back at him, furthering him to walk.

“Ah the four dimpled smile.”

“Yyyep!”

“You’re not worried, I’m gonna fall?”

“Nope! I’ve got you.” She says, confidently.

He regards her pensively and then nods. “Okay then.”

“Okay.” She agrees (but she’s not sure to what).

The walk around the room is exhausting for him, but he somewhat pushes himself. She decided against taking him out to the ward.

He’s huffing and puffing and flushed when she gets him back to the bed. Once he’s back in the bed, she adjusts the covers around for him and pats his shoulders.

“Good job, Mike.” She says.

He nods and leans back. “Baker.”

“Yeah?”

“Last year?” He says, panting. The profusely red color that has flooded his face dissipates, slowly.

“Yeah I know. You hit 38 home runs.” She says, in a comforting tone.

His eyes fly open – there’s fascination in them. She doesn’t tell him that she’s followed his career with a microscope for the last eleven years.

“When that ball flew out of the park –“ He says, closing his eyes shut. A peaceful expression overtakes him. “There was this feeling, right there in my heart – that there was no place in the world I’d rather be than right there on that field.”

She smiles.

When he opens his eyes, she’s taken aback at the raw emotion she sees.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna have that again.” He says – in a voice so soft – if Ginny hadn’t been standing right there she’d never have heard it. But - the pain in that voice is so intense, that she feels like someone shivved her in the stomach and twisted the knife.


	2. Chapter 2

She meets a lot of baseball players, every now and then. At that point, Ginny feels that’s the only reward for all the crap she has to put up with when it comes to Lawson’s physiotherapy sessions.

(He can be unbelievably stubborn sometimes. More than once, she feels like she’s dealing with a hybrid of a crabby ol’ gran’pa and an irascible child.)

Most of them are _Padres_  players, but some really big names from the other major teams also come by. She gets a couple of autographs; she takes a lot of selfies – she even spazzes out when Posey pays a visit.

(She notices that Lawson tends to be a little protective about her when his teammates are around – and if anyone tries to act fresh with her - and a lot of them do - he shoots them down.)

Blip comes by often. Ginny’s always happy and excited to see him, mainly, because Mike’s usually most relaxed around Blip and that translates into his physiotherapy sessions making it easier on her.

(Whenever, she and Blip start reminiscing about their days at USC she notices that Mike’s just observing her with a quiet smile.)

“He treating you alright?” Blip asks, when he comes outside to talk to her. “He can be a real pain in the ass, y’know?”

Boy, does she know. “No more than the usual.” She says, smiling surreptitiously.

“He likes you.”

“Good to know.” Ginny says, trying to sound cool.

“Ginny – he says his career might be done.” Blip says, his voice, taking on a serious turn. “Is that true?”

“I don’t know, Blip. You should speak to the Doctors.”

“He’s already lost a lot, Ginny –  losing baseball…it’ll destroy him.”

Ginny doesn’t say it – but she knows that’s a valid fear. Losing baseball damned nearly destroyed her, too.

 _Already lost a lot._ The words strike her in retrospect.

She looks at Blip quizzically.

It occurs to her that she doesn’t know much about Mike’s private life. Apart from his teammates, managers and the Padres upper management honchos – she hasn’t really seen any family coming by.

Something just hits her – with a force greater than she’s prepared for. She hasn’t seen _Rachel Patrick_ come by _._

Not even once.

 

\------

 

He touches her hand – without warning.

Ginny sucks in a breath, sharply.

“Those – are-“  He runs his thumb along the edges of her fingers. “You were a pitcher.” He murmurs. “Hardball.”

“Yes.” She smiles, wanly.

Hazel eyes meet hers. There’s wonder and amazement in them.

Her heart rate increases when he doesn’t stop stroking the calluses.

 

\------

 

Bantering and teasing is the key to getting him to do stuff. It riles him up enough and relaxes him at the same time.

Just when she thinks she’s growing accustomed to dealing with the internal war of adulation vs. diligence within her, just when she’s getting used to Mike Lawson being a part of her daily schedule – fate throws her another curveball.

The sight of Mike Lawson half-naked.

She’s not a prude. Plus, she’s always seeing patients in their various stages of undress as part of her job.

It’s just – it’s _Mike Lawson_ and yeah, though he’s been a dick to her those initial days, he’s starting to warm up to her – and she’s back to getting those fuzzy feelings again. He’s even throwing her his charming cocky grins every time they meet – like he’s happy to see her.

Today he’s in the PMR room, on the chiropractic bed couch because they started intensive phase rehab for him and his muscles are sore.

“Gaarrrgh! You’re gonna kill me one of these days, Rookie.” He roars as she jabs her finger into the base of his spine to relieve the spasms after he’s done with his exercises.

She pats his back. He obediently flips on to his back without her even as much as saying a word.  She wonders when they became so comfortable with non-verbal gestures. She does the assisted stretches for his hips and knees, trying not to look at his pectorals.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“You’re avoiding eye-contact. Did I do something to piss you off?”

She shoots a look at him hoping to god that the inward blush that she’s feeling isn’t showing on her cheeks.

He gives her an innocent smile. “Apart from the usual, I mean.” He adds.

She chuckles and shakes her head. “Nope. Old Man.” She says, definitively. “You’re good.”

He closes his eyes and moans when she massages his core muscles. He’s got golden hair on his chest – and it’s so fine that it just feels like plush when she runs her hands on them. The skin over his torso isn’t like the one on his limbs. It’s softer – smoother. Freckled.

She bites back her smile as she looks at his face relaxing.

 _It’s very unprofessional,_ she chides herself, _feeling squeamish about touching your patient because you’re worried they’ll sense the latent attraction you’re feeling towards them._

 

\-------

 

“He’s a fuckin’ brat.”

She grunts as she extends his leg and then turns to look in the direction of his gaze and sees a footage of Duarte catching, on FS1.

“Duarte?” She says, she snorts in agreement. “No kidding.”

He moans and lies back down when she flexes his knee.

The newscaster returns from break and they start yapping about Duarte again. She notices how Mike’s face steels up. How the furrows of his forehead flatten down as he clenches his teeth. “That guy’s not taking my job.” Mike says, determinedly. 

She takes his determination as a positive sign. A change of mindset does wonders for recovery.

 

\---------

 

Ginny hates that just when hope starts to float – Murphy and his fucked up law get on the raft and shit hits the fan.

For a brief while, they start seeing dramatic improvements during the rehabilitation process. So much so that Smith starts talking about discharge and getting him into intensive training.

And then Rachel Patrick tornados in and fucks it all up.

They’re in the cardio room and Ginny’s just about done with the session, ready to send him back to the ward. She’s powering down the elliptical’s resistance, sending him into cool-down mode when this strawberry blonde drop-dead gorgeous woman with perfect skin stomps in.

“Why won’t you let me see you?” She shrieks at him, startling them all. Her eyes are stormy.

 _Rachel Patrick_ – (Ginny recognizes Mike’s wife) - is more beautiful in person than she is on TV.

Ginny sees that she’s welling up with tears at the sight of Lawson.

Mike Lawson just glares at her and says nothing.

“Mike! I’m – I’m – I’m your _wife_!” Rachel Patrick hisses. “You cannot _forbid_ me from seeing you!”

She suddenly notices Ginny and then she recoils, her face becomes sheepish and apologetic.

Ginny reaches a hand to steady Mike as he gets off the elliptical. He silently gets into the wheelchair that the orderly has arrived with.

He refuses to even look at the emotional woman.

“Mike! Please!”

He gives Ginny a silent nod as a goodbye-for-today. Ginny nods back.

She watches silently as Rachel Patrick follows him while they wheel him away, his name sounding like pleas on her mouth.

 

\-------

 

The day after Rachel Patrick visits. He spikes a high temperature that doesn’t budge for the next few days – and they defer his discharge.  Dr. Mugh’s veritable cute mug looks very stress when Dr. Smith and him are huddled in discussions. Everyone’s freaked out about re-infection of the joints.

Ginny doesn’t sleep well those days, either.

(She tries not to think if his wife’s visit and the hyperthermia are related. She wants to believe they’re not. That it’s just coincidence, that - maybe there was something incubating in his body for a longer time that’s not related whatever’s going on between him and the wife.)

It’s almost time for her shift to end when she goes to his room. He’s propped up at a forty-five-incline, his face is flushed and he looks drained when she enters.

“Hi.” He greets her, with an amicable smile that makes her stomach tighten.

“How are you feeling.”

“Like shit. Didn’t see you all day. Thought you’d finally come to your senses and thrown in the towel.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” She returns.

“Can’t stay away from me, can ya?” He quips.

“You wish.” She teases and then straightens her face.  “No physio today, Old Man.”

“But, it’s the highlight of my day.” He says, giving her a weak smile.

“I believe you.” She says, entering her notes.

“Rookie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have some place to be?”

“No – you’re my last patient for the day. Why? Do you need something?”

“Can – can you stay for a bit?”

“Mike.”

“I’m not asking you to climb in bed with me.” He teases – rather – he attempts it. His voice is feeble. When she gives him that look, he sighs – the good humor is gone. A pleading look replaces it. “I know – I know I’m just your patient, Rookie. I’m not asking you to cross any lines for me.”

She nods and then sighs. “Well, maybe – just for a little bit.”

She adjusts the covers on him, picks up the magazine that’s lying open-faced over the covers on his bed.

Lawson closes his eyes when she drops into the chair. She watches him for a bit in silence.  Then she looks at the article that he’d been reading and groans inwardly. There’s a whole analysis of his career with a small update on why he’s on his way out.

This life is hard, she thinks as she reads the words.

People see the glory, the victories, the endorsements, they don’t see the years in the pits, the heartbreak – the injuries, the instabilities. It’s so easy to dismiss everything with a couple of words and photographs.

She huffs and shakes her head. “And Fuck you too, Alex Whitman.” She mutters. She sinks back into the chair and pulls her feet up, sitting cross legged, flipping through the pages of the magazine. 

“Yeah!” She hears Mike say softly.

“I thought, you’d dozed off.” She says, feeling a little shy.

“Nope. Can’t sleep.” He says. “Feels like the worst hangover ever. Why do you hate Alex Whitman?” He coughs – eyes, still closed.

She turns the pages back to the article and at the inset photograph of the Whitman, her least favourite sports writer. “He’s an asshole.” She says, matter-of-factly.

“No argument there,” He coughs again. Ginny pulls her tablet PC to pull up his chest X ray.

“He doesn’t know jack shit about baseball.” She says, thinking out loud more than actually talking to Mike. “Just pansies off his opinions as though he’s right there in the trenches. I don’t think he’s seen the inside of a field since 1997.”

She checks his updated vitals and chest X rays, happy to see that there’s no chest congestion and then looks up at him.

He has a single eye open, peering at her – it’s so comical - because it looks like he’s winking at her. She can’t stop her smile.

“Well, aren’t you the amateur sports analyst.” He remarks.

She twists her mouth in a facial shrug and tosses the magazine to the table.

He’s closed his eyes again, but his head is turned towards her. She yawns and curls up, turning to her side and leans her head against the backrest of the chair so she can look at him.

“You still there?” He says, heavily, after a while.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Blip tells me were a ballplayer.” His words are drawled out, lazily. “That you made to high-As. Is that true?”

She doesn’t answer him.

“I didn’t know women could _get_ picked.” He says.

She doesn’t say anything. He looks so tired, so worn out. Her heart goes out to him.

“Baker?” He flutters his eyelids – but doesn’t fully open his eyes.

“I switched to softball, ultimately.” She says, looking down at her fingernails. “It got me through college.” She shrugs.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not all it was for you?”

 _If you don’t give it everything you got, little girl – you ain’t never gonna make it._ Her father’s words echo in her head.

“It was another life time ago, Mike.” She says, yawning again, because she’s tired too. “I wasn’t serious about it.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I guess because I wanted the dress – the dance, too.” She blurts.

He sleepily opens his eyelids, peering at her – his eyes seem foggy. “What the fuck does that mean, Baker.” His voice is a low rumble. “I haven’t a clue what that means.”

“That means, you better get well soon, Old Man.” She says, smiling surreptitiously at him.

He gives her a slow, wide, loopy smile that slowly fades as he slips into a REM cycle.

 _Well, at least that’s one thing about you,_ she thinks to herself. _You gave it everything._ She thinks of his aging body, his busted knees…of Rachel Patrick.

 _Maybe –_  She thinks as an afterthought. _It took more than you could give._

Ginny closes her eyelids, thinking that she’ll rest them for a while.

“I’ll take you to Petco, one day.” She hears him say. His voice is sluggish. She opens her eyes as soon as she hears him speak. “I’ll take you there, on a full moon night. We’ll drink champagne and we’ll play an inning.”

She finds his eyes focused on her, staring at her, like he’s in delirium.

“Just you and me.” He whispers before falling into a deep exhausted sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Ginny made a choice when she was thirteen. She put down the mitt and picked up the dress. Her father’s blatant disappointment was only eased over by her mother’s soothing acceptance.

She went to the dance. She enjoyed herself – despite the nagging guilt that crept up on her.

She lost her father that night – emotionally. Their connection was gone. He still helped her with her game, but it felt like she broke that part of him that was driving her on. For a brief moment, she thought she had him back – when they told her in high school that girls couldn’t play baseball and her father stepped in and argued for her right to play. But, he never put in the same hours and same effort as he used to.  They grew more distant – he grew less interested. She couldn’t sustain her enthusiasm after that.

She wonders – if he’d pushed her just that little bit. Would she have made it past the A’s? Could she have ever made it to the triple A’s, at least?

She might have been a pro ball player in another life – but this was the one she had. She was a sports therapist par excellence with a better-than-most pitching arm that she could never take beyond the minors.

She doesn’t quite know if she missed out on anything, worthwhile. Her mother always argued that her father was fobbing his dream on to her.

But she disagreed – playing in the major leagues was a dream for true.

Only she wanted it _all_.

She wanted the dress and the mitt.

She knew she could never have them both.

 _You can’t do nothing perfect without sacrifice, little girl._ Pop used to say.

 

\-----

 

The fever was a huge setback for Mike.

It ate away at his energy and completely sucked the will out of him.

She’s hit a wall with him two days after they retried the exercises. For three days straight, he refuses to do anything. It’s driving her nuts. He keeps whining and complaining and more often than once she’s convinced he’s over exaggerating the pain.

“He’s not himself.” Al Luongo, the manager of the _Padres_ club says to Dr. Smith. He’s a chubby man with a bad limp and kind eyes and Ginny can tell he genuinely cares about Mike.

(She’s hanging around the nursing station _not_ eavesdropping while he chats with Smith.)

“There were unforeseen complications Al, you know that.” Smith reassures him. “He’s better, now.”

“No – Doc – I’ve been seeing him ever since you pulled him out of surgery. He’s just not that motivated – it’s very unlike him.”

“Hospitals aren’t exactly conducive places for morale.” Smith says. “Once he’s better – I’ll discharge him and then he’ll be on the mend faster than you think.”

“You don’t get it, son.” Luongo says, plainly. “If Mike’s not playing baseball he’ll get only get in worse headspace. Look Doc, I know you’re good, ya’ did your best – I understand what you’re telling me about the knees but the way I see it – that kid’s already got it in his head that his career is done. It’s like losing the war before ya’ win the battle.”

“We’ve not gone down that road yet, Al.” Smith says, in a kind voice. “There are still options – but we can’t try them out just yet.”

“I hope so, Doc.” Luongo says. Ginny can see the stress on the man’s face as he turns his head towards Mike’s room. “ I’m not ready to lose my most experienced player, yet. I’ll fight off the vultures as long as I have to – but I’m worried. I’ve never seen him like this.”

 

\---

 

Ginny has a particular game she watches, whenever she has a bad day. She rummages through the trunk and pulls out the DVD of wild card game she taped seven years ago. _Padres_ vs. _Blue Jays_.

It was one of the most exciting games she’d ever witnessed and even now when she re-watches it, she can still feel the thrill and the excitement of an on-the-edge-of-your-seat experience.

She watches Mike – young energetic twenty-nine-year-old, newly appointed captain Mike Lawson run for his life past second, third bases and lunges – crashing in to reach the home base mere seconds after the ball making it into the catcher’s hands to be declared as out. There’s a look on his face that’s captured by the camera. This gloating cocky smile that erupts just as he bounds off the ground – like he knows he’s going to make it – that’s replaced with a look of pure murder when he’s declared out. The next inning, he retrieves the ball and throws it to across the field to second base, allowing Williams to take out the runner at second base only to receive it back to out the incoming runner at home. The look on his face in the after – complete validation.

That’s the man who’s lying in the bed, she thinks. That beautiful, strong man who loves his game. Only he’s trapped – in a prison made by marital failure, troubled knees, an aging body and the fear of impending retirement into obscurity.

Never meet your heroes, Mugh had said to her – weeks ago, on her birthday.

Not everyone gets to meet their heroes, she thinks now. It’s a privilege – not a burden.

 

\---

 

“Come on! We’re doing something different today.” She says, chirpily. “No boring ol’ physio today.”

He’s still sulking that morning, but his interest is peeked enough when she tosses him a pair of scrubs that she could salvage by bribing the laundry supervisor. She points to the sneakers that she fished out of his cupboard. “Go change.” She orders.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Out.”

“Like, on a date?” He says, mockingly.

“I don’t date ballplayers.”

His face changes. “Really?” He says.

“Why does that surprise you?” She frowns.

He blinks at her and then shakes his head.

 

(He keeps harping how he makes a better looking doctor in those scrubs than the Dr. Cute Mug as he follows her outside. Ginny secretly agrees with him.)

“Aaah! Beee-auty!” He groans and stretches out, lifting his face to the sun and closing his eyes.

In the golden light of the sun, Mike Lawson looks like a picture of a perfectly handsome deity to Ginny Baker. She watches him soak the sunlight and marvels as his face brightens as though he’s powered by solar batteries that have been quiety discharging over the last few weeks. She feels a bit of the warmth radiating its way to her from him.

“I figured some QT outside, would do you good.” She says, cheerfully.

She leads him out into the large open rhomboid shaped garden between the Sports medicine & PMR block and the Oncology block.

 “So no conventional physio today.” She says, handing him a catcher’s mitt. She gestures for him to stand at the place she calculated sixty-feet six inches away from the point she’d designated as a pitching mound.

“We’re gonna play catch?” He says, looking sceptical. “You’re twelve, Rookie. I’m not.”

“ _You’re_ gonna catch.” She says, pointing to the garbage bag stuffed with balls. “I’m gonna pitch.”

He sighs but doesn’t kick up any arguments. He groans and gripes as he squats and stretches out his legs.

“Hey! No heroics, you promise?” She says, walking backwards towards the mound. “Just a little light hardball.”

“Oooh! Foreplay.” He jibes sarcastically.

“Shut up!” She retorts, chuckling. She rolls her neck around her shoulders, loosening her upper body muscles.

He looks bored but holds his palm out, taking a catcher’s position, wincing every now and then but getting adjusted.

Ginny smiles wickedly and then winds up.

\---

Whatever she did, worked.

So well, that she gets permission to do some of his exercises outside, mixing in a little play time to keep him inspired. It spurs him on. There’s a new found energy that he’s diverting back into recovery.

He still throws tantrums ever so often – right to point where she’s accusing him of being a moody child.

(– but she’s found a perfect cure. There’s a picture on her phone worth a million bucks that goads him into action every time.)

“Waahaaa! Go away!” He laments when she pops her head into his room that morning.

“What’s up?” She barges in and starts checking his joints, trying to discern if he’s really sore of if he’s just being obstinate. “Why aren’t you coming down?”

He shakes his leg out of her grasp and grimaces instantly like he’s regretting it. “I don’t wanna do power-yoga.” He says, sounding obstreperous. “It’s for wimps!”

“Yes, you do.” She rolls her eyes. “And it’s not for wimps.”

“No, I don’t wanna do it. And yes, it is for wimps.”

“Levan Duarte’s gonna get your job.” She says crisply.

“Let him have it.”

“Come on, stop being a baby.”

“Gah!” He grumbles, turns to her direction and closes his eyes. “You’re exhausting. Go away.”

She raises her eyebrow at him.

“Nap time.” He quirks an eye open.

“You sleep a lot, Old Man.”

“Outta my yard, Rookie.”

She sighs and pulls out her phone. She shoves _that_ picture in his field of vision just as he pops open his eyes.

(The look on his face was priceless the first time her kickass screwball hit his mitt. By the time, she repeated it thrice – his jaw was hanging to the ground. He was stunned long enough for her to capture his face on her phone for posterity.)

“See that?” She says.

“Get that outta my face, Rookie.” He growls, grumpily.

“What’d I tell you? That will be you at the playoffs if you don’t get your head in it, Old Man. Only it’ll be a high definition video that’s gonna be rewatched a billion times on youtube.”

“I’m not gonna make it to the playoffs.” He mutters.

“Not if you don’t get your sorry ass to power-yoga, you won’t.”

He promptly shows up at her department within the hour.

 

\------

 

If baseball is the cure for his lousy moods, then _he_ is the cure for hers.

“Hey Rookie!”

Ginny turns around in the sound of his voice and doesn’t hold back her smile. There’s no limp in his walk any more. She’s already got him staying in a squatting position for long enough. He’s already on the higher intensity cardio and he’s looking a perkier and healthier.

“Hey Old Man.” She says, tucking her phone into her pocket. She nods at the Bailey, the junior trainee physiotherapist, who’s escorting him to the exercise room.

“I’ve got him.” She says. Bailey – heaves a huge sigh of relief and mouths a thank you at her before scampering off.

She shakes her head and cocks her head at Mike.  “He’s scared of you.” She chides him, softly.

“He better be.” Mike grumbles. “Frog-Hands! He’s like twice your size but he nearly dropped me while I was doing those standing on one leg theatrics you had me doing the other day. He dropped the ball – like literally dropped the medicine ball while I was sitting on it! Damned nearly popped my hip”

She bites back her amused laughter. “You’re a bully!” She reprimands him sweetly, leaning back against a whole shipment of boxes that they just left in the corner because some idiot lost the keys to storage.

“Where the hell were you yesterday, anyway?” He says.

“I had a thing.” She says.

She leans back against the boxes and folds her arms. He does the same. They watch patients and staff filter in and filter out at various spots. She nods at some, smiles at the others.

“What thing?” He says, looking at her curiously. She’s a little distracted by the white streaks in his beard before she notices his frown. “Like a thing with your boyfriend?” He asks.

“Nope.” She says, and frowns back at him when she sees his eyes look contented.

 (– what is that look? Is he happy she doesn’t have a boyfriend?)

“Why didn’t you invite me? It’s not fair -” He frowns like a grumpy old man when he speaks. “You leave me out here with Frog-Hands and the world’s worst crappiest jello pudding.”

His acerbic humour is just too infectious. She sucks in her mouth and ignoring the looks from her co-workers who are throwing him annoyed looks.  She pouts her lips out and looks straight because she’ll just laugh like an idiot if she sees all the funny faces he makes.

“Was it fun?” He says, after a pause. “The thing you did?”

(It wasn’t.

Her ex-boyfriend Trevor Davis showed up at her door the previous day and her mood was soured. He told her about the phone hack. About the selfies that were backed up and now very likely in the cache of some whiz-kid’s computer being saved for a rainy day for the purposes of blackmail.

He reassured her that he’d get her legal assistance she needed in case the pictures ever made it out.

 _No one’s gonna be interested though,_ Trevor had said _. It’s an occupational hazard with professional athletes if they ever become successful. It’ll blow over, it always does._

He also wanted to rekindle their romance.

That ticked her off, but not as much as the real reason he was invited to San Diego. There was _some_ talk that he might be traded to the Padres as a relief catcher - _because_ \- there was _a lot_ of talk that Lawson wouldn’t make it back in time – _ever_.

She just said no and slammed the door in his face.

She didn’t tell him that Mike was her patient. It was none of his business anyway.)

“Hey!” Mike snaps his fingers to get her attention back. “You still there?”

She shakes her head and sighs sadly. “Yeah I’m still here.”

“Everything all right?” He says, looking genuinely concerned. 

“Yeah, yeah – everything’s good.” She gives him a reassuring smirk.

He gives her a look that says that he doesn’t believe her and then looks straight ahead, sighing out loud.

“I miss our little garden games.” He said.

“Well –“ She sighs, feeling wistful herself. “If you hadn’t gone being a hero, we’d be out at the garden right now.”

(She had promised him a proper inning if he kept doing well at his physio. A no-holds barred game, without her constantly hollering at him to take it slow. The first ball she pitched turned out to be the very last one they’d ever play at the centre’s premises.

He hit a beautiful, out of the park home run that flew right into the fancy-ass tempered glass facade of the Oncology building, shattering the pane to smithereens.

Suffice to say, Dr. Lena Cassidy, head of Oncology was not amused.

Ginny reckons one of the best memories of her life was created there standing in the garden looking up with terror at what they’d done. Even from where Ginny stood, she could see the horrified look on Cassidy’s face as the woman peered through the jagged glass shards that was once, the window of her office.

It became the story of the hour at the hospital. What was all the more hilarious was that Ginny was congratulated more than reprimanded by the staff, even if she had to take heat from upper administration.

Mike covered her ass by writing a cheque to cover the repair charges and apologizing to Dr. Cassidy -and by apologize – she means: charming the pants of the stuffy middle-aged woman.

No more outdoor games for them after that.)

She starts sniggering when she remembers that goofy adorable facial expression he had on all day - somewhere between smugly victorious and sheepishly mischievous. (Like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar.)

Mike starts sniggering with her - she knows he’s remembering that day too.

“We really gotta find another outlet for you.” She says, trying to control her laughter. She firms her mouth in a thin line to keep the laughter from erupting. “Hey! You play golf?

“Do I look like I play golf?” He says, looking at her like she’s grown an extra head.

“You look like cousin from duck dynasty.” She says, plainly.

He’s grinning and nodding at her in a way that makes her heart do a little flutter and then he tosses his chin up slightly, narrowing his eyes at her. “You love the beard.” He says, in a low voice.

“I do not…” She says, shaking her head and unable to hold it back. She gurgles over with laughter.

“That’s because you have a different image of me.” He looks like he’s holding back a joke. “Probably from all those posters you had, hanging up in your bedroom wall.”

He chortles.

“Oh!” She rolls her head and makes a face. “I did _not_ have posters of you hanging on my bedroom wall.” She argues back, making a defensive face.

She’s not surprised he knows. The whole damn hospital knows she worshipped him as a child. It was bound to slip out of someone’s mouth sometime.

He’s just bending over in a riot of guffaws and elbowing her. She elbows him back and they’re laughing together, just elbowing each other. 

 

\-----

 

He touches her hair.

She’s coaching him through seated knee pull-ups. She’s on one knee with one hand on his back to support his mid-section when he finishes the reps. She wordlessly pats him to stop. He exhales out in relief and hunches forward, bending his knees, completely winded, covered in sweat, face pink exhaustion and – wincing in pain. When she knee-walks towards the side of his legs to check on his knee, he leans back on his arms, meekly. It’s like he intuitively understands her actions.

She’s rolling his leg about keeping her ear to his knee to check for the popping sounds of fluid crepitus when a long errant spiral escapes from her tightly bound pony tail. She blows it away, trying to focus. It falls back into her eyes.

Before her hand can reach for it – his does.

He twists the curly lock around his index finger and pulls it back from her face.

She’s frozen in her spot, her eyes snapping to him. He’s got a fond, intense look in his eyes with a small smile that’s almost hidden by his beard. His fingernail scrapes her hairline when he tucks the lock behind her ear - the pad of his finger rubs over the edge of her pinna, when he pushes it in place.

The gesture is simple – but Ginny feels a trail of pricking warmth follow his touch. She wonders why – she chides herself for overthinking it.

It feels more intimate than it should.


	4. Chapter 4

_It’s no big deal if you feel this way_ – she tells herself. 

It is not uncommon for patients and to their care-providers to get emotionally attached. It’s totally normal especially if there is prolonged duration of care.

It happens all the time.

But she doesn’t know what she feels.

She’s long past the full-circle, hero worship phase. She’s long past her crush. Things have changed. He’s not just this unattainable untouchable symbol for her anymore.

He’s part of her life.

He’s real.

(And it would have been easier to deal, if he didn’t keep stealing glances at her the way he did when he thought she wasn’t looking.

It would have been easier to get over, if he didn’t give her those secret smiles and nods.

It would have been easier to ignore, if he didn’t give her those intense pensive looks every time their faces were closer than necessary, when she assisted his exercises.

It would have been easier to handle, if his distinctive scent mixed with the acrid odour of perspiration didn’t get her body all warm and aroused.

It would have been easier to overcome, if she didn’t feel her heart pounding at a rabbit’s-pace every time her palm made contact with his skin.

It would have been easier – if the sight of his smile didn’t brighten up her day.

It would have been easier – if she only she could grow up, shove these mixed emotions away, remind herself that she’s a professional and do her damn job properly.)

 

\------

 

She lived in a bubble.

Bubbles burst. Always.

Without exception.

It was inevitable.

 

The pleasant imaginary world she lived in this past month - this fantasy where it was just her and just Mike – it explodes in her face that morning.

Dr. Smith calls her in to his office. Al Luongo is there looking pretty happy when Smith talks about discharge and assimilation. For the first five minutes, Ginny thinks Smith and Luongo are planning a strategy that involves her. But, then she notices Blake Sandler, Ph.D. standing in a corner, swiping through a tablet.

The foremost sports physical therapist in the country and _Padres_ most fifth most expensive contracted non-athlete employee – their dedicated in-house therapist _._ The best of the best.

Luongo congratulates her on handling Mike’s situation and the progress he’s made, but that Sandler needs to be involved from this point onwards.

“I know what you think, kid.” He says to her. “Mike and the Doc here tell me your opinion is that he can be ready by the playoffs. It’s not, that I don’t trust you. The powers that be will only trust Sandler’s assessment. I don’t wanna send my most experienced player down to the farm. There’s talk upstairs that if they don’t get Mike out of the hospital and back into active training, he’ll lose his job. His sixteen-year long career as a major league ball player will be gone in the blink of an eye.”

Ginny bites down on her lip – the sharp pain easing the gargantuan wave of disappointment and anxiety that’s sweeping her. “Yeah, I understand.” Ginny says.

Smith gives her a pitiful look. Ginny wonders then if the whole hospital suspects how unreasonably attached she’s become to her patient.

“Miss Baker, I have to say.” Sandler says, in a kind voice. “Your methods are unconventional but it’s clearly working – I’ll be happy to follow through on advice you have.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir.” She says to Sandler. “But you’ve written the text book on this. I’ll transfer my notes to you, at the earliest. I’ll be available any time if you need any help.”

She walks back to her department, repressing the storm raging inside herself, talking to herself repeatedly. _This is nothing more than it is._

Tomorrow he would be discharged. He’ll go back to his routine life. They’ll exchange phone numbers. He’ll maybe think about her once in a while but for all intent and purposes he’ll forget her in time. He’ll go back to his job, back to the groupies who surround him. Maybe he’ll stop being so angry and bitter and reconcile with his wife. Maybe his knee will heal well, he’ll win the World Series for the _Padres_ this year.

Maybe he’ll be grateful to her because Mike Lawson is a legitimately a nice, loyal, dependable guy. He’ll probably send her a fruit-basket and a thank-you note. Maybe he’ll even be nice enough to write her a recommendation.

She’ll go back to her patients and after a year she’ll apply for her doctorate.

_This is all there is._

He was her hero. He came into her life like a dream come true. He was her patient. They bonded.

She finds her steps heavy, a sinking feeling consuming her chest.

 _There can be no lasting friendships here. There is nothing more,_ she tells herself. _It’s okay_ \- she tells herself.

 _That’s all there is,_ she tells herself.  

 

 

\-----

 

 

“She cheated on me.”

This is their last scheduled session. Neither of them talk about the fact that he’s leaving. She pretends like this is routine session. He pretends like he doesn’t know he’s getting discharged the same evening. They’re the only people in the weight room.

Ginny’s adjusting the weight on the leg curl machine when he suddenly just says it.

(They don’t owe each other anything, yet so much seems left unsaid.)

She doesn’t know what spurs his admission. It’s been so many days since his wife showed. He’s been through a proverbial ‘hell and back’ phase since then. They’ve only been giggles and games since then. There’s never been any low moments – not that she can recall. In fact, she completely forgot about the whole ‘Rachel Patrick Event’.

Today, he just blurts it out of the blue. Like it’s the most normal thing to say.

She nods.

“I walked in on them.” He says. “The night the Doc told me I needed surgery – I went home early.”

She moistens her lips but doesn’t know what to say.

Ginny hasn’t a clue why, but something feels complete when he makes that statement. Like this is the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle snapping into place.

“She said baseball came first for me. That she hated that _she_ felt like the mistress and the game was like my wife.”

Her mind suddenly takes her to a similar argument a few years ago – when her mother left her father for Kevin.

The older Ginny got, the pro-athletes she worked with, the more the understanding of the toll professional sports took on the family lives of players started to make sense. Slowly, she was able to empathize with what that loneliness could be like – even if she never could fully forgive her mother.

Ginny sighs out heavily and directs him to start the reps. He does them obediently, under her steady scrutiny.

“I can’t help thinking.” He says. His voice is forlorn but steady. “That she was right. That maybe I wasn’t paying attention. That somehow, somewhere my game, my body, _my wife_   - it all changed but I was too busy or too stupid to notice it.”

She nods her head, trying to seem considerate.

“Do you know how that feels?” He asks her, when she tells him the switch legs.

She thinks of Trevor Davis. She thinks of her mother and Kevin. She thinks of _that_ broken hearted look on her father’s face – twice. The first time, when she picked up the dress, the second time when her mother announced her departure from their marriage.

She says nothing.

He stops his actions and looks at her – like _looks_ at her. His eyes boring a hole into her, like he’s able to sear his vision through her defences and look into her fragile dilapidated heart. He stares at her for the longest time. Then, he releases the arm support of the machine and gently taps her chin, lifting her face up to look at him.

She looks into his eyes but only sees the dress, the dance. (Was it really worth losing the connection with her father?)

“Ginny.” He whispers. ( _Not ‘Baker’, Not ‘Rookie’.)_ “Do you know – how I feel?”

He might as well be echoing what’s running through her mind. Only for in her case it’s: _Do you know how I feel about you?_

“Mike,” She finds her voice heavy and wavering under the weight of the unbearable emotion in his eyes. “I can’t talk about stuff like that with you. You’re my patient.”

He snaps his hand back like he’s been burned. In an instant a mask falls over his face, and Ginny can almost see the wall that rises up.

He apologizes immediately. He promptly turns to the machine and returns to the repetitions.

“See you ‘round, Dr. Ginny Baker.” He says, softly when he leaves.

 

\------

 

He’s discharged that evening, exactly one month past her birthday.

She pops in her comfort-DVD – _Padres v. Blue Jays_ and sobs quietly fast-forwarding to her favourite parts of the game. The weight of reality crashes down on the surreal life she lived in that one month. Tears flow freely while she watches the younger version of him on her TV screen.

She doesn’t know if she should thank fate or curse it – that it brought this tumultuous experience into her life and then cruelly ripped it away.

Those quiet, intimate moments, interspersed with drama, hilarity and fun. That connection she experienced - not with Mike Lawson, All Star, MVP, Captain of the _Padres_ – but, with Mike Lawson – the man.

She’s never going to get this again – not with him.

She realizes why she weeps, once the DVD stops playing. For a month – her soul reconnected with the spirit of baseball. The good, the bad, the ugly the beautiful. It’s highs and lows. The victory and the heartache. For a month, she felt connected to her father – the way it was _before_ she made a choice. 

She pulls out the salmon-orange dress, that night – clutches it to her chest. The dress that her mother bought her for the dance, ten years ago. She keeps it as a souvenir because she doesn’t believe that her life turned out all bad.

She doesn’t believe she made the wrong choice.

It's only that - she’s just - _not_ sure if she made the right one. 

 

 

\--end---

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading. I love you all. This is the best fandom ever.  
> Also please review.


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